


When You Left Me

by saemi_mitsuwa



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-30
Updated: 2012-06-29
Packaged: 2017-11-08 20:37:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/447308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saemi_mitsuwa/pseuds/saemi_mitsuwa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Upon meeting America for the first time, England spends four months settling America down in a new home, teaching him his language and culture. After deeming the boy settled and safe, England decides it's time for him to return home. America takes it badly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally intended for the One Year Anniversary Celebration of the USxUK LJ community (For the "Spring" theme), but I never finished it in time. Also, this was originally a one-shot, but it was so long (More than 20 pages!) I decided to split it into two chapters.

_ Late September _

_  
_

Never had America cried so much as when England left for the first time. America had just grown used to the older nation, enjoying his company and smiling face. The nation told America his human name,  _Arthur_ , and gave him his very own human name,  _Alfred_.

" _A nation's real name is precious, only to be spoken by friends and loved ones."_ England had told him.  _"Our_ _ **human**_ _names are used to protect our identity. No one but the highest officials may know who we truly are."_

England taught America his language, his culture… he often took America to the docks and taught him about the different ships that were tied off, what their purpose was and the names of the equipment on the deck. America hung on his every word, listening to England relay bits of his wild pirate days before he met his tiny charge.

Months passed, and the days grew shorter and the nights longer. The air slowly turned crisp with chill and the sun's light lost its luster. Autumn was coming, along with the cold, harsh winter. It was on an early cloudy morning when America found England packing his clothes away in his sea chest.

America stood frozen in the doorway, his frilly white gown billowing in the breeze.

"You're leaving…?"

"I'm sorry America, but I have stayed as long as I could manage. I have to visit the other colonies and nations…" he said calmly. "My people need me."

America ran to him, stumbling over his tiny legs and feet, and flung his arms around the nation's right leg. "Don't go!" The boy demanded before remembering his manners. "Please!"

England set down a half-folded shirt and turned to the tiny boy. "America…"

"Please!" The boy insisted, his grip on England's leg growing tighter with each passing second. "You can't leave!"

Something flashed in England's evergreen stare and he calmly extracted America from around his leg and hefted him into his arms. America's face scrunched in further distress and he wrapped his arms around the older man's neck. "America, I have stayed with you for almost four months now-"

"B-but you can't-!"

"America." England pulled the boy away and set him upon the bed. "I can't stay with you  _all_  of the time. There are other people who wish to see me too."

The older nation leveled a stern, unrelenting stare at the boy.

"But…"

America dug his fingers into the bed sheets, his chin trembled, his blue eyes stormy.

"I'll miss you, England."

 

+++++

 

America had watched England's ship leave the port with sadness, anger and frustration boiling in his chest. He tried to remember the words England left with him, promising to come back next spring.

" _Soon you'll forget being sad about me,"_  England reassured.  _"You'll find other things to worry about… and before you know it, the birds will be singing, the flowers blooming… and I will return."_

Biting his lip and narrowing his eyes, he watched the ship disappear into the horizon with a deep scowl, and when he could no longer see the white sails, he turned and ran from the docks. He dodged merchant carts and groups of women, men riding horses and children playing jacks, he ran through the city and into the countryside, deep into the forests… the very same forests England warned him about. Telling him of devils and impure spirits lurking in the woods, all of whom carried little boys off who wandered about after dark.

America finally stopped at a tree, staggering on his heels for a moment while he gasped for air.

England had left him… he left him alone.

_It's not fair._

America pushed away from the trunk and sprawled to the forest floor, staring into the sky, crisscrossed with barren tree branches.

_I wish England would always stay with me._

 

_+++++_

_  
_

_ Mid-November _

_  
_

Winter passed slowly, and everyday America wondered when England's words might come true.  _Will I ever forget feeling sad?_ America hated feeling so gloomy, and tried focusing on other tasks. Mary, the maid and indentured servant England took in and agreed to servitude of two years until her debts were paid, took care of him. Upon first hiring her, England forced America to pretend they were a normal family, but it was only after the boy accidently split a door in half that she discovered his true nature. After England left, she made sure he was well fed, properly clothed and bathed. Every day she had him practice his letters with the horn book, read verses and practice simple arithmetic, and  _always_  made sure the boy was busy in some way. America threw himself into the chores, finding he disliked the hornbook and wished to write using  _real_  paper with a feather quill and ink,  _just like the kind England uses._

_England… I still miss you._  America sighed and stared out the window, forgetting all about the hornbook and practicing the alphabet.  _It's been so long… when will Spring come?_

The months passed slowly, the nights long and the days short. Snow covered the garden England had tended over the spring and summer months. The tree's were barren, save for the occasional pine. America pressed his face to the cold glass of the window and stared into the forest. Beyond the forest lay the docks, beyond the docks lay the ocean, and beyond the ocean was where England was. America pulled away from the window and stared at the map England had given him before he left. Setting the map on his bed, he touched the coastline of his land, running his tiny fingers across the rough paper. Running his eyes over the document, he moved his finger across the large expanse of the Atlantic Ocean and rested his finger on the island where England lived.

_Are you in your home country, England?_ America wondered.  _Or are you with the other colonies…?_

A burning wave filled him, and America grasped the map and flung it to the floor in a fit of jealousy. England went to see the other colonies over staying with him. He was a worthless, backwater colony… the only thing he had of value was the abundance of land that stretched on to the western horizon. He was small and unworthy… unfit for England to care and spend his time with. Eyes stinging at his revelation, he jumped to the floor and pounded down the stairs.

"Alfred, how many times have I told you to-"

America ignored his caretaker and flung the front door open, letting in a blast of frozen air, and ran outside wearing only his trousers and white shirt. Outside, the once green landscape was turned grey and white. Winter lay its heavy hand on the land, turning the air and water frozen, causing the trees to drop their leaves and the animals to hide away.

"Alfred, where are you going?" The voice of his frantic caretaker grew in volume as she neared proximity. "Come inside before you catch your death-!"

America sprinted away from her, hot anger coursing through his arms and legs. The cold air burned his throat and lungs, turning his cheeks and ears red. His bare feet pounded into the frozen ground as he ran around the house, through England's frozen garden and into the woods. He ran until he was breathless, and then continued to run, ignoring the stinging pain from his feet. Tree's void of leaves and small bushes flew past him, he jumped over jagged roots and dodged small animals that came into his path looking for food to eat. Finally he heard the distant sounds of the town and emerged on the other side of the forest. Buildings and muddy streets appeared before him, horses and carriages rode past, the townspeople not sparing another glance as they assumed him to be an orphan living on the street. America looked down and found mud covering his feet up to his ankles.

Frowning, he threw himself into another sprint, flying past houses and print shop windows, general stores and governmental offices. The salty air grew stronger and finally America came to the docks. Only a few ships were tied and anchored, as many ships didn't risk sailing during the treacherous winter months where icebergs grew more abundant. A tiny smile blossomed on America's face, and he stepped forward onto the docks, the wood feeling soft against his battered feet. He spied a clear area, void of any dock officials and sailors, and sat on the edge of the wooden boards, allowing his feet to dangle just inches above the water's surface.

America breathed in, allowing a deep breath of salty air to fill his lungs.

_England… I wish you were here all the time…_  America stared at the dark, midnight blue water under his feet. The water splashed against the wooden pillars under the dock, stinging the cuts on his muddy feet.  _If I were more like Canada… would you stay with me?_

He thought of his twin brother, and how different he seemed. The boy was quiet and mild-mannered. He hated conflict and only seemed to enjoy America's company if he had already burned off sufficient enough excitement outside.

_But… England is always comparing him to me._ America stared into the eastern horizon with a scowl _. Always going on and on how "_ _ **Matthew**_ _follows the rules", "_ _ **Matthew**_ _never tracks mud into the house", "_ _ **Matthew**_ _never burps at the dinner table", "_ _ **Matthew**_ _never skips his academics to play outside", "_ _ **Matthew**_ _always keeps everything neat and tidy"… Matthew, Matthew,_ _ **Matthew**_ _._

Something struck America suddenly, and he felt excitement filling for the first time in months.

It was all so  _simple_. Why hadn't he figured it out earlier?

_If I were more like Matthew… then maybe England will stay longer?_

 

_+++++_

_  
_

_ Late January _

_  
_

America clutched the feather quill, dipped the pointed tip into the ink well atop England's desk, and sloppily scratched out the letter "A". Beside him stood his tutor, an old man with glasses, a white beard, and a scowl on his face. The man always seemed to be angry at everyone and everything…  _especially at me_ , America thought gloomily while he tried writing his human name on the paper, his tiny hand trembling from the effort.

"Good  _heavens_  child, your penmanship is  _horrible_." The man frowned at America, and tore the quill from his hand. "Must you press into the paper so  _hard_? Look at how I hold it between my two fingers and thumb. I do  _not_  grasp it with my fist and  _carve_  it into the paper."

America barely suppressed a sigh and stared at the paper. His fingers were still clumsy with youth and holding the quill with only three fingers was  _hard._

_But… I bet_ _**Matthew** _ _holds his pen perfectly. I bet he has nice penmanship and can write his name in_ _**cursive** _ _, even._

He gripped the edge of his table with his fists and dug his fingers into the surface. It wasn't like he could complain, because  _he_  was the one who  _insisted_  and  _pleaded_  to have a tutor to his caretaker. He wanted to learn how to write and read like the high class men in town, so one day he could write a letter to England.  _That would definitely impress him. How hard could it be_? America assumed it would only take a week to learn how to do these things.

Four weeks into the tutoring and America barely learned how to write a sentence, much less a letter. Some simple words and signs he could read… but the books in England's office were impossible. America sighed and glared at the paper and his scribbles.  _This is taking too long. I have to think of something else._  After his uptight tutor  _finally_  left for the day, America snuck to his room and sat at the window in his hopes of avoiding Mary and her never ending list of chores.

_I tried learning how to read and write… but that will take too long._ America peered out the window and thought of England and the stories he told.  _England always talked about sailing… what if I became a ships boy?_  Excitement coursed through him.  _I could travel across the Atlantic and finally see England in his home land for the first time! Or I could travel to the Caribbean or to the northern coast of Africa! All the same places England's been to before!_

He jumped from his chair, a grin stretching ear to ear.

_A ship's boy… I can't wait!_

 

_+++++_

_  
_

_ Mid-February _

_  
_

Having waited for new ships to arrive in the harbor, lest the tavern be full of people who might recognize America, he finally decided on sneaking into the "Bell in Hand"(1) by the docks. America waited until sunset and after eating dinner, told his caretaker he was going to visit the governor on  _important business_. Mary held a look of confusion at first, and then realized that, despite him being a child he was still a  _colony_  and had duties to honor. She smiled and beamed at his sudden show of responsibility and bid America good evening, warning him not to be out too late. All the while America smiled as innocently as he could muster, holding his head high and back straight.

Having walked out of sight of the downstairs window where Mary sat with her sewing, America finally allowed a grin that nearly split his face from ear to ear. He broke into a run down the dirt carriage road that curved, dipped and twisted until the town came into view. Deciding it would be better to avoid the main streets, as the constable(2) might catch him and send him home, he ran down the back streets and hidden alleys, sneaking past candle-lit windows and horse stables until the tavern came into view. The bitter smell of alcohol flooded the air, along with the smells of roasted meat and fresh bread. America licked his lips and was thankful he decided to eat his dinner at home before coming.

Finally arriving at the front of the tavern, he stood near the entrance and glanced about. The people he saw were all strangers, some wearing official naval uniforms, others wearing filthy clothes that held the stink of salt and fish on them. Releasing the air from his lungs, America casually waltzed into the tavern and stuck close to the walls, away from the main floor. He didn't want to attract any attention to himself, as his clothing and hygiene was far cleaner than half the men and women currently in the establishment. Finding a darkened corner, America crouched and opened his eyes and ears. Many voices filled the air, some slurring and giggling from the alcoholic high, others jovial and happy to be on land, spending their money on good food and good women.  _Whatever that means_ , America thought with a roll of his eyes.

He sat and listened quietly until his legs ached from the position. Finally a nearby sailor spoke up, mentioning the need for new ships' boys. America jumped up, wobbling for a moment on his unsteady legs, and rushed to the sailor.

"I wish to join your crew as a ships boy, sir!" America stood straight and tall, hoping to make a good impression. "I'm a hard worker!"

The sailor peered down at him for a moment before sneering at his clothes with a chuckle. "Boy you've got some nerve comin' in here looking like  _that_."

"Like what?" America looked down at his clothes. "What's wrong with what I look like?"

"Your blood is too rich to be a ships boy." The man laughed under his breath and brought a brown bottle to his lips, gulping down the strong smelling liquid. "Hey, constable! This brat is bothering us! Get him out of here!"

America gasped and turned around, finding the man who knew him for his true self, thanks to several accidents involving his uncontrolled strength, glaring at him. "Alfred, what in devils name are you doing here?"

Not waiting to respond, America fled the tavern and ran all the way home.

America sat facing the corner, his face and rear end both burned, but for entirely different reasons. After telling Mary of his  _brilliant_  adventure in the tavern, thanks to the constable showing up the following morning and explaining to Mary regarding his true whereabouts, his caretaker held a look of horror and spent the next 30 minutes explaining why he was forbidden to return to the docks. America grew frustrated, then angry and lashed out in a fit of anger, calling her something he'd overheard England say to someone in town when he thought he wasn't listening. That was when Mary, red faced, sent him outside to find a suitable switch for his lashing. After Mary deemed his punishment suitable, she sent him to sit in the corner on a hard wooden stool.

He sighed and glared at the wall. So much for adventure on the high sea's, sailing across vast oceans, exploring unknown lands and battling pirates. The plans he'd been so excited out thirty minutes prior were dashed to pieces.

_There's not as much snow falling as there was before,_  America thought suddenly.  _Just a couple more months and England will be here!_  Excitement flooded him momentarily before his failures fell upon him once more.  _I'm running out of time… if I don't think of something soon it'll be too late!_

A lump of sadness filled his throat and he bit his lip, forcing himself not to cry. England  _never_  cried. Not even when he was wounded or shot. Why should he?

Another mournful sigh escaped his lips once more.

_I'll never make England proud of me._

 

_+++++_

_  
_

_ Early March _

_  
_

Arthur slammed the door shut to his room and collapsed into the chair at his desk. Stacks of paper sat on one side, his ink well and quills sat on the other. Pressing his hands to his face, he sighed heavily and rubbed his throbbing temples. For weeks he'd dealt with foreign officials and his own politics, their never ending arguments driving into his brain like a hammer to an anvil. Groaning, he opened the desk drawer, shoved documents to the side and pulled out a bottle of rum he'd saved from his voyage across the Atlantic. Yanking the stopper off the bottle, he gulped down the warm liquid and after setting the bottle back to his desk, sighed and slouched in his chair. It had been nothing but headaches since he'd arrived in England, his problems with France and Spain never seeming to end.

There was a knock at his door, and the voice of his assistant came through the door.

"Sir, I have more documents here-"

Biting down the urge to tell the man  _to_   _throw the bloody things away_ , he grit his teeth and clutched at the bottle of rum. "Set them on the floor and I'll take  _care_  of them later."

"But sir-"

"Just  _do_ it,  _please_."

There was a pause, an obvious sigh and the sound of documents being placed beyond his door.

"You must take care of these at  _once_ , sir."

Footsteps sounded and disappeared down the stairs.

England shook his head and closed his eyes, wishing for the cool calm and peaceful silence of America's colony. Granted, he could go to his second home out in the country, but… there was something about the  _new world_  that relaxed him and drew on his old adventuring spirit all at once. Opening his eyes, he stood from the chair, twisting the kink from his right shoulder, and scuffed to the window, where a sparrow sat on a nearby tree limb. England opened the window slowly, not wanting to startle the bird away, and gazed at it. The bird chirped and sung its song, rustling its feather and scurrying down the branch when another bird tried invading his branch.

He peered at the tree and noticed the slight flashes of green where new green leaves were emerging. Smiling, England came to a silent decision, went back to his desk and readied his quill.

 

+++++

 

_ Late March _

_  
_

"Alfred you have a letter from Arthur!" called Mary from the bottom of the stairs. "Would you like me to read it to you?"

America threw his horn book down and rushed down the stairs. "A letter from Arthur,  _really?"_

A grin blossomed across America's face, England had  _never_  sent him a  _letter_  before!

"Then I'll go ahead and open it." Mary broke the wax seal and unfolded the letter. England's fancy cursive was revealed. " _Dear Alfred_ ," Mary started in her best storytelling voice. " _Winter is almost over, and as promised, I am returning in the spring. By the time you read this letter, I shall be only a day away from arriving. I hope to see you soon. Sincerely, Arthur_." Mary smiled at Alfred's excited grin. "Oh! Here's a post script.  _Alfred, I hope you are not upset at me still. Don't ever forget that I deeply care for you_."

America took the letter from Mary and stared at the perfect cursive. "I wish I could write like Arthur…"

"Perhaps you could practice writing something so when Arthur gets home, you can show him your progress in your academics?"

America stared at Mary for a moment. "Then En- Arthur will be proud of me?"

… _England always talked about honor and pride when he told me his adventures across the world. How he never put his pride and honor on the line, defending it with any means necessary…_

"Why…?" Mary paused a moment. "Of  _course_  he'll be proud of you! Why  _wouldn't_  he be proud of you, Alfred?"

America ignored her question. "That's a good idea, I'll write something for Arthur!" … _I can't tell her anything, otherwise she might tell England!_

"Ah- Alfred wait! I need you to help me make pomander balls(2)! Alfred!"

America ran to England's office and pulled the chair from the heavy oak desk. Settling into the chair, he scooted forward and took up a piece of paper and quill, but didn't dip the quill into the ink well yet. He stared at the blank off-white paper, his blue eyes focused on a single point. Finally he dipped the quill into the ink well and touched the tip to the paper.

_Dear Arthur,_

Starting the letter was easy enough, as it's always the same thing. America bit his lip and stared at his sloppy hand writing.

_When you left-_ "No…"

_I practiced my letters and try_ \- "No, no…"

He scratched these fragments out with the quill.

_I tried to forget you, but I just couldn't do it._ _I miss you._ _I practiced my letters every day. I always did my-_

America flung the quill to the floor in a fit of frustration.  _It's all wrong!_   _Nothing ever turns out right. It's always wrong, all the time._  America clenched his fingers into fists.

_England will read this and make that choked scoffing noise he does whenever an officer from town summons him_ , America thought grimly.  _He would stare at it and crumple it up, saying "I'm disappointed in you America. Mary told me you studied your letters and practiced your writing over the winter months… and this is all you can do?_  America clutched either side of his face, unable to stop the scene from playing out in his head, no matter how hard he closed his eyes.

_England frowned at him. "Matthew is your same age, and yet he can already read and write fluently."_

_England stepped away from him._

" _I'm disappointed in you."_

" **Noo** -!"

America clenched his fists and slammed them into the desk. A horrible sound erupted, and wooden splinters covered him. A trembling shiver filled his chest.

_Oh god… oh please oh please…_

His stomach hollowing out, and he slowly lowered his wide blue eyes to the desk. Two fist shaped dents appeared in the wood underneath his clenched fingers, alongside a deep crack that ran directly down the center of the desk. Breath catching, America peeling his fists away from the wood, he touched the crack, and the surface gave way, both ends of the desk collapsing into a pile.

A choked gasp caught in his throat.

"Alfred!" Mary called from the first floor. "I need your help to prepare for Arthur's arrival!"

_Arthur… England… he'll be here any day now… and no, no, no, his desk… the desk he had made just for him, the desk that was made in his home land and shipped across the Atlantic… the desk he spent hours at, pouring over papers and books and drinking the dark rum bottles I wasn't supposed to know about and-_

" **Alfred** ," Came Mary's voice once more, only this time it was strained. "Don't make me come up there!"

America gasped, finally forcing a breath through his throat, which his heart was most likely wedged into and slide off of the chair. Swallowing repeatedly, he rushed to the door, stepping beyond the thresh hold and slammed it shut behind him.

"I'm coming!" America trembled and tried coming up with an excuse. "Don't come into the office! I have a  _secret_  waiting for Arthur!"

"A  _secret_?" Mary smiled at him, thinking Alfred had written a letter for the elder nation. "Of  _course_ , now come down and help me with these Pomander Balls. You want the house to smell nice for when Arthur comes, don't you?"

America rushed down the stairs.

"…Sure."

 

+++++

 

Sunlight filtered through the cotton curtains that hung from America's window. It was morning, and America sat buried under the bed sheets. England was going to arrive today. He was going to come to his house and go to his room. He'd set his chest at the foot of his bed and take the documents he received upon arriving at the docks to his office. He'd open the door and find the shattered remains of his desk and-

America choked down a sob that crept up his throat and squeezed his eyes shut.

_Nations don't cry. Colonies don't cry. It's not brave or heroic!_

Squeezing his eyes shut, he thought of his caretaker. Mary had come in earlier to rouse him from sleep, but after finding the boy in his sorry state: cheeks flushed, eyes bloodshot, hands trembling, she deemed him sick and ordered him to stay in bed while she made warm broth.

Soon now, England would be coming home. His ship was due to arrive today, and he could show up in the carriage at any moment.

America twisted under the bed sheets and buried his face into his goose-feather pillows.  _England is going to be so angry… he'll make me get a switch from outside and bend me over the side of the bed and-_  America shook his head at the thought.  _Maybe… if I got away somehow… maybe if I had something grand and honorable for England to see, he won't be mad at me?_ America bit his bottom lip and turned away from the pillow.  _England has been all over the world… and here I've never even left my own colony. I must be… if I was to travel and prove my honor and pride, like England has so many times, then maybe he'll forgive me?_  The idea seemed good enough. England always loved telling his stories and tales of fortune and adventures.  _That's it. I'll go and try to gain entrance to one of the ships._

Throwing the bed sheets off, he jumped from the bed and started going through his clothes, trying to find an older pair that was dirty and scuffed. Finding one set of trousers that were full of holes and an old collared shirt that used to be white, he threw the clothes on and put on an old set of stockings and hard-heeled shoes, he fled his room, stepping down the stairs silently and snuck to the front door. Glancing back once to ensure Mary was busy elsewhere, he opened the door, stepped through and closed it softly behind him.

_I'll be back when I can prove my worth._

 

_+++++_

_  
_

America ran through the woods, making sure to dirty his skin and clothes along the way. Upon entering town, he followed the alleys and back roads, sneaking past homes with the savory smells of cooking meat and fresh baked goods. A rumbling came from his belly, but America ignored it.  _I'll have time to eat later_ , he reasoned. The  _Bell in Hand_  finally came into view. Excitement flooded him as he neared the back of the building. Stepping to the side of the building and edging to the street, he found the tavern to be mostly empty. Frowning, he realized it was still mid-day and many of the sailors and other men weren't in yet.  _I'll have to wait for nightfall_ , America reasoned with a frown.  _I'll have to find a place to hide until-_

His train of thought was cut off when a voice pierced his consciousness. The familiar rough voice, yet with the lilt of a British accent… eyes widening, America crouched and peered around the edge of the building. There, standing before a dock official was England.

Something squeezed inside his chest, and America smiled.  _England… England was back!_ The elder nation appeared to be happy, as his face and shoulders were relaxed, a tiny smile on his face.  _He's happy now… but not when he finds how what happened…_ America shivered and pulled away, closing his eyes.  _He'll be so_ _ **mad**_ _…_

He stepped away, backing into the shadows and slide to the ground, his feet splayed out before him. Closing his eyes, he breathed in the dour smells of the city and let his head lull on his shoulders.

 

+++++

 

_At least now I can relax…_ England sighed and stepped off the carriage, taking his sea chest and carrying it across the lawn to the house, when the front door opened. England froze and braced himself, expecting America to come barreling towards him. Last time he'd been gone for a few days America nearly broke a rib when he ran to him and gave him a bruising hug. Yet, to his surprise, it was Mary who stepped out from the doorway. England ignored the wave of disappointment.

"Mr. Kirkland, so good to see you!"

England nodded. "It is nice to be back. How have you and Alfred been?"

To this, Mary's smiled faltered. "Well… we've been well enough."

England's steady pace slowed. "…Well enough?" He parroted. "Is something wrong?"

"Well…" Mary interlaced her fingers together and played with the hem of her dirtied apron. "Alfred has been acting strangely since you left."

England frowned, but continued into the house, wishing to put his belongings away. "How so?"

Mary followed him inside, shutting the door. "Well… he seemed to take your leaving fine. He even asked for a tutor-"

"A  _tutor_?" England paused on the stairwell. "A tutor for  _what_?"

"Reading and writing… Alfred said he wanted to learn as fast as possible…"

England raised an eyebrow at this.  _Getting the boy to study from his hornbook and read verses was as painful as pulling teeth. And now he wanted a tutor?_

Mary knew this as well, having been witness to many a temper tantrum from the tiny colony. "It was odd at first… but it wasn't until yesterday that I realized what it was from." A small smile grew on her face. "He didn't say it out loud, but I think he wanted to write to you. He missed you dearly… "

England turned away from her, hoping she didn't see his flustered, red-faced stare, and hurried up the stairs.  _America missed me that badly?_ England stepped into his room and set his sea chest at the foot of his bed.  _No one's ever felt that way about me before…_  he mused.  _Usually the other nations… and my brothers… are glad to have me gone…_

"But…" Mary stood in the doorway to his room. "He got this idea in his head about sailing and the docks and snuck into town, into a  _tavern_  of all places. He told me he wished to be a ships boy and travel the world, just like you did." There was a hint of suspicion in her voice, but being an indentured servant, she didn't push it. "However, he did say he had a surprise waiting for you in your office."

"A surprise?" England turned to Mary. "By the way, where is Alfred?"

"He woke up sick and with fever this morning, so I kept him in bed. That reminds me, I have broth for him…" Mary retreated to the stairs and headed to the kitchen.

England frowned.  _A fever?_  Nations and colonies rarely got sick, save for economic downturns… but to his knowledge, the American colony seemed to be doing fine, even thriving.  _Why would he have an illness?_  Brushing the concern aside, he headed to his office, intent on finding the surprise America left for him. Grasping the brass doorknob, he twisted and pushed the door open.

Shock filled him at the sight. His once beautiful oaken desk, now a splintered, destroyed mess lay in ruins on the floor. Papers, feather quills and spilled indian ink lay everywhere. Feeling that ever familiar rising tide of anger filling him, he clenched his jaw and stiffly walked to the remains of his desk, which looked like it had been shot with a cannon, and knelt before it, gathering papers and sorting them into a stack.  _Why in the hell… he claims me missed, me, and yet he destroys my desk?_  Frowning, he shoved on stack to the side and grasped a piece of paper that didn't hold his cursive hand. Instead it was awkward and almost… inexperienced. Curiosity rising beyond his anger, he held the paper before him and read the scribbled writing.

_Dear Arthur,_

_I tried to forget you, but I just couldn't do it._ _I miss you._ _I practiced my letters every day. I always did my_

England stared at the paper, his evergreen eyes widening at America's effort to write him a letter. His shoulders sagged, and he slowly stood up. Glancing away from the tattered letter, he stared at the broken remains of his desk. Taking in a deep breath, he turned and left his office, stepping down the hall and came to America's room. Steeling himself both mentally  _and_  physically, he opened the door.

The boy's bed was empty, his clothes littered the floor.

"Alfred? Come out of hiding, I'm not angry."  _I_ _ **am**_ _angry, but your letter..._ England shook the thought away. "Alfred, come out of hiding, I'd like to speak with you."

England stepped further into the room and started moving objects and clothes, even pulling the bed sheets back and kneeling on the to peek under the bed. "Alfred, come now stop hiding-  _Alfred_?"

_He's not here…_

England stood and left the room in a rush, nearly running into Mary.

"Where is he?"

"Where is who?"

" **Alfred** … you said he was in his room."

"He was! He was in there for the entire morning-"

"He's gone." England gripped the letter in his hand. "I already searched his room."

Mary gaped only at him, and then gasped in anger. "The docks! There's no other place he'd be!"

Frowning, England rushed past her and into his room. Unlocking his sea chest, he withdrew some items and lay them on his bed.  _What possessed me to tell the boy of my adventures? Honestly, you should have known he'd do something like this!_  England berated himself as he shut the doors to his room and changed into a different attire.  _I'll have to get this ships boy nonsense and seafaring adventures out of his mind. Otherwise he might try something drastic when I leave again._ Shrugging the heavy coat on, looping the thick leather belt around him, tugging the black leather boots on, he opened his closet door and picked up an old hat, the feathers adorning it were dusty and dropping. Placing the hat upon his head, he stepped away and stared at himself in the mirror.

_Well,_ _**Captain** _ _… it's been some time, hasn't it?_

 

_+++++++++++_

  


**Historical Notes** :

  


1) **Indentured Servant** \- According to Wikipedia: "An indentured servant was a worker, typically a laborer, under contract to an employer for a fixed period of time, typically three to seven years, in exchange for their transportation, food, clothing, lodging and other necessities. Unlike slaves, an indentured servant was required to work only for a limited term, specified in a signed contract."

2) **Horn Book** \- According to Wikipedia: "In children's education, in the years before modern education materials were used, it referred to a leaf or page containing the alphabet, religious materials, etc., covered with a sheet of transparent horn and fixed in a frame with a handle". These were used extensively in early colonial America, and were often hand made by the student's family.

3) **Bell in Hand** \- This is the actual name of a historical Pub/Tavern in Boston.

  


4) **Constable** \- A constable was actually an officer who was in charge of the care of a royal households horses, but I've heard of them being referred to as peace officers as well, so I thought I'd use this.

  


5) **Pomander Balls** \- These were typically large apples with cloves and cinnamon sprinkled on them. They were were hung from the ceiling. Children would make them in Colonial times to make the house smell nice.


	2. Chapter 2

"Aye brat! Get out of here!"

A man's rough voice woke America from his feverish nap. He scuffled to his feet and turned a wide look about, his blue eyes unfocused from sleep. An overweight man stood before him with a brown apron tied around his chest, which had been white once upon a time. Throwing his calloused hands in the air, he waved them at America, flinging them at his face. "You heard me! Leave! I can't have you hanging about here, or others might get the same idea!" The man thrust his foot out, striking America in the shin.

"Ow! Fine- I'm leaving!" America glared at the man and limped to the street.  _That hurt… he didn't have to kick me so hard!_  Gasping and blinking the sleep from his eyes, he found the sun had long set, leaving the town dark. Drunken bellows and joyous laughter filled the air around the tavern.  _Alright… there it is. The_ _Bell in Hand_ _… if I want to become a ships boy, I'll have to go in again._ America gave a soft nod, a silent reassurance to himself, and with his back straight and head held high in confidence, he stepped across the threshold and into the tavern.

Taking in a deep breath and setting his jaw, he kept his eyes low and started through the tavern. Pushing past the women, many of whom were showing vast amounts of skin, showing off their shoulders and legs, _even up to their_ _ **knees**_ , America noticed in shocked embarrassment. Turning away, he pushed his way through the crowd. The bitter smells of the alcohol mixed with the savory scent of roasting food, all mingled with the salty odor many of the sailors carried from their oceanic travels. The tavern seemed to be even more crowded than the other night, with the noise level twice as loud all talking and yelling, bellowing and laughter. He skimmed the crowd and tried to find a captain or officer who might be willing to take him on. _Captains and officers are dressed_ _real_ _nice like… but it seems like the only men here are sailors-_ America's eyes widened. There, sitting near the bar was a sailor unlike any other.

A vivid red coat adorned his shoulders, arms and back, trimmed with black velvet and gold thread. A ruffled white shirt showed just under the coat and a white scarf was tied around his neck, ending in an elaborate knot at the hollow of his throat, the ruffles of the shirt puffing out underneath. Heavy black-brown trousers covered his legs, where they disappeared into rugged leather boots, dyed black. Tied around his head was a blue scarf, forcing thick blond hair to stick out from the bottom.

America swallowed something thick rose in his throat.  _He's_ _got_ _to be a captain… he just_ _has_ _to be!_ Excitement flushed through him, and America forced the rising tide back down.  _I have to act like an adult… I can't just run over to him! He'll just have me kicked out like that sailor did the other night!_ Swallowing once more, America strode over to the man, stopping at his left side.

Resting on the table was a large black hat, adorned in exotic feathers of all colors and tiny twinkling gems. Beside the vibrant hat was a pair of  _blunderbuss pistols_ (1). Eyes widening, America glanced to the man, who was currently drinking dark liquid and looking away.

"Sir," America exhaled sharply, trying to sound smooth and confident. "Are you the  _captain_  of a ship?"

The man made no effort in acknowledging him, seeming to choosing his beverage over the boy in who to give his attention to.

"…Sir?" America wasn't one to give up so easily, and continued to request the man's attention. "Please, I just _have_  to know…" America hoped he was speaking like a proper gentleman, not the slur and slang he liked to use. "…Are you a  _Captain_ of a ship?"

Moments passed, and the man set an empty glass on the edge of the table. "…and why would a  _boy_  be asking such a question? Surely you have  _better_  things to do than bother me."

America jumped at the man's heavy accent, the same accent sailors had when they hailed from the Caribbean.  _Is he… a pirate captain… from the_ _Caribbean_ _?_  Excitement flooded him once more, and it took every tiny speck of self control not to grin like an idiot and touch the  _blunderbuss pistols_  sitting before him.

"Sir-" America wished the man would turn to look at him so he might see his future employer's face. "I am a good worker and very strong! I can be a great ships boy… the best one you've ever had!"

"Is that so?" The Captain signaled one of the women to refill his glass with the dark liquid. "Can you anchor a line?"

"Yes." America lied, assuming he'd learn from one of the sailor's once on board.

"Can you tie a bowline knot?"

"Yes."

"Trim the sails? Keep the guns and other areas of the ship clean? Can you do heavy manual labor?"

America faltered at this, but clenched his jaw tight and said, "Yes!"

_I never expected this to be easy,_ America reasoned, _it will be a lot of hard work… but it will all be worth it! I'll make England proud of me._ A smile came to America's face before he was able to force it down into a serious thin line.  _Then… maybe he'll forget all about the desk?_

The Captain downed another glass and after slamming it back down, stood from his chair. Grasping the pistols, he secured them in the thick belt drawn tightly around his waist, and set the lavish hat upon his head, moving it from one side to the other until it was secure. The man then turned to America and smirked, showing a line of teeth.

"I suppose I could use you. What's your name, boy?"

"My… my name is Alfred."

" _Just_ Alfred?"

America chewed his bottom lip; Arthur had never given him a surname before. Usually he just kept it to Alfred, and no one questioned it. _But now…_  America swallowed and thought quickly. _A surname, a surname… I can't use Kirkland cause then he might think I'm a rich boy and not some poor orphan from the street! I have to come up with something else… something…_

"Alfred F. Jones!" America bore a proud smile. "That's my name."

_…I actually like the sound of that,_  America admitted to himself.  _Has a nice ring to it… like the other nations names!_   _No... even better!_

"Alfred  _F. Jones_?" The man stared at the boy, his eyes shadowed under the large hat. "Well… that is certainly a surname I've never heard of before."

"It's my name." America stared at the man. "And you probably don't know it 'cause I'm an  _orphan_."

_Well... I don't_ _really_ _have a mom or a dad… except for Arthur, but he's really more of my…_ _guardian_ _than anyone else. Almost a big brother… even though he_ _hates_ _it when I call him that…_

"A good point." The Captain's toothy smirk eased into a crooked smile. "Well then,  _Alfred F. Jones_ , let us go to my ship, shall we?"

America gawked at him. "Am I a ships boy now?"

"Did I say you were?"

America frowned. "No."

"Come." The Captain weaved through the throng of people; America followed him with ease, as it seemed the tavern patrons instinctively moved from the Captain's intimidating presence.  
 _  
_ _I wonder… will we go to his ship?_ A hundred questions all rested in America's mind, and he wanted to voice them all.  _But I would only annoy him… I have to show that I'm responsible!_ America kept his lips pressed firmly together and followed the Captain through the tavern doors and toward the docks.

"Say… Captain?" America inquired. "I told you my name, but you never told me yours."

It was an honest and fair observation, and America hoped the Captain wouldn't be too upset at that.

The captain remained silent, seeming to choose not to give his name to the boy, and continued to walk to the docks until the dirt road turned into wooden planks. The captain walked down the wooden walkway and turned to the gangplank that led to the deck of a grand European galleon. America's mouth dropped open and he openly gawked at the massive sails and high deck of the ship. The captain stepped up the gangplank with practiced ease, as if he'd done it thousands of times and never gave a spare thought to the dark water below. America swallowed and refused to think of his swimming capabilities, or lack thereof, and rushed up the gangplank.

The captain halted momentarily on the deck and turned to face him. "The deck is one of your responsibilities. In order to ensure cleanliness and order, we must keep the decks  _clean_. If they are not clean, then the ship will sail sluggishly. Have you swabbed and polished a deck before?"  
America stared at the captain and hoped his lack of knowledge on the subject wouldn't upset him. "No, sir."

"Sand and water are scrubbed into the deck, then you use the sandstone block to scrape the filth away," The captain waved his hand to the entire huge expanse of the deck. "Lastly, you swab everything away with the mop. Understand?"

America nodded. "Yes, sir!"  _That sounds easy enough… hard work but easy…_

"Good." The captain turned and headed below the deck, where row after row of cannon sat. "This is another responsibility of a ships boy. If there is a battle, and the cannons are to be used, it is your responsibility to bring the black powder to the cannons. If you are lacking in speed and are not quite fast enough, then the men manning the cannons cannot fire to their highest ability. Understand?"

America nodded, confident in his athletic abilities. "Yes, sir!"  _Running and carrying black powder kegs, that's easy enough…_

The captain turned away again, not giving him a second glance, and stalked firmly and steadily down the length of cannons when a man suddenly appeared before him. The captain halted, and America nearly ran into his legs.

"Who are ye-?" The other man's voice was aggressive and gravelly.

"I am the new captain of this ship." The captain's voice rang out clearly, undaunted by the other sailor's threatening undertones. "Who are  _you_?"

The man blinked at the captain owlishly before a something clicked in his wide-eyed stared. A grin spread across his face, revealing yellowed crooked teeth. "Why _Sparrow_ … where the 'ell have you been? Me and the other men have been wondering where ye disappeared to!"

America stared at the man, and then turned to stare at the Captain.  _He knows the captain?_ _Sparrow_ _? Is that the Captain's name? Captain Sparrow?_

"…it's been  _some time_  since I last saw you." The captain didn't sound too happy about meeting him. "I've been staying in the colonies, visiting an old friend of mine."

"That Kirkland fellow? You planning something big? Something big _always_  happened when you left to visit him, a big bust or new information about gold and treasure-"

America paled.  _Captain Sparrow knows England? Not good. He might try to take me back home!_

"My plans don't concern you."

"-aw Cap'n, don' be like that…" The sailor raised his hands in defense, and finally noticed the small boy standing beside the Captain. "And 'ho's this lad?"

America waited for the captain to introduce him, but the man was strangely silent. America frowned and stepped forward. "I'm to be the new ship's boy!"

"A new ship's boy?" The sailor laughed and chuckled. "We've needed a new once since the last few were shot to pieces and captured. Poor lads keelhauled to death-"

America grew cold and shrunk away.  _Shot to pieces?_ ** _Keelhauled_** _?_  (2)

"That's  _quite enough_ , William." The captain's voice grew low and aggressive. "No sense in scaring the boy, hm?"

"Ah, wouldn't want that," The sailor stepped closer. "…but I wonder, does he know what happened?"

"He's a ships boy, he doesn't have to know what happened. Now if you'll excuse us-"

"-But I'm sure he'd love to know-" The sailor grinned at America, who tried not to shy away from the man's aggressive gaze. "-about the mutiny and all."

America glanced to the Captain.  _Mutiny? There was a mutiny against the Captain?_

The Captain sneered at him, his upper lip curled in distaste. "A mutiny that you were a part of."

"We didn't want ye draggin' us to 'ell and back anymore, see?" The sailor took another step forward. "Ye made empty promises and never paid us back-"

"-I didn't hear you complaining when we were  _rewarded_." Icy sarcasm dripped from the captain's voice. "Now if you kindly leave us-"

The sailor lunged forward, tearing his cutlass from its scabbard and gripped America by the throat, pulling the boy to him. America gasped and felt himself pulled into the sailor's soft, bulging belly and cringed inwardly. The captain had both pistols drawn in the blink of an eye, one aimed at the sailor and the other pointing at the deck, his mouth drawn into a tight line, his eyes shadowed from his hat.

"Let the boy go." The captain's voice was poison dripping on the edge of a razor blade. " _Or_ _ **else**_."

"Not until you pay me my due! Lying, thieving rat!"

"I believe you are wrong in that accusation, traitorous mutineer."

America stood frozen and held his breath, unable to tear his eyes away from the cutlass the sailor was swinging around.  _If only he didn't have a sword… I could get out of his grip easily!_ America squeezed his fingers into fists and found himself thinking of England.  _If only England were here… he'd show this sailor a thing or two!_

"…Should've left you on that god forsaken island while we had the chance!" The sailor pressed the sword to America's neck. "Give me my due payment and maybe I'll give the boy back _ **un**_ _harmed_."

The Captain tightened his grip on the blunderbuss pistol and drew the hammer back. The sailor only laughed in response.

"Ye might shoot that when the boy is so close?" The sailor chuckled. "I should've known ye might be so cold hearted."

The captain squeezed the trigger and a second passed before the black powder ignited. A brilliant orange flash of fire and smoke erupted from the gun, and tiny pieces of metal slammed into the sailor's chest. Blood sprayed and rained down upon America, who cried out and tore himself away before the sailor collapsed to the floor. America ran to the other side of the room, still feeling the sailor's sweaty heat on his back, the calloused fingers on his pale throat, the warm liquid spattered on his face and in his hair. The captain ignored the man, who was now groaning and cursing wetly, and turned to America.

" _Alfred_ , are you hurt?" The captain's voice urged softly, his boots echoing on the hardwood floors as he stepped toward him. "Answer me, Alfred. Are you  _hurt_?"

America huddled away from the captain and touched his face, feeling wet drops smearing across his cheeks and nose. Raising his hand to his hair, he felt it becoming wet and matted. Tearing his hand away with a choked gasp, America looked at the captain, then to the half-dead sailor bleeding out on the floor beside the row of cannons, and ran away.

The captain's shouts sounded behind him, but America ignored them. Heavy thuds came with each step as he ran up the ladder to the main deck, down the gangplank, past the docks and through the alleyways until nothing but the forest surrounded him. America ran and ran, the familiar burn entering his muscles. The image of the man lying on the floor, blood soaking his clothes and pooling to the wooden floor below burned into his mind, he squeezed his eyes shut, hoping to force the picture from his mind. His foot caught on something and he tripped, sprawling face first into the uneven forest floor, prickly vines and bushes breaking his fall.

A choked sob escaped as America tried pulling himself from the thorns of the vines, his skin burning and stinging from the cuts and bruises. Curling into a ball, America drew his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them before burrowing his stinging, burning, scratched face into them.

 

+++++

 

England stuffed his heavy coat, the feather hat, blunderbuss pistols and anything that might be recognizable and stuffed them into a large cotton sack. After tying the sack to the back of his saddle, England jumped onto his chestnut steed and raced home. Once his house came into view, England tied his horse off at the stable and ran to the front door, throwing it open.

"Ame-  _Alfred_!" England called, trying to keep the worry from filling his voice. "Alfred, are you here?"

Mary emerged from the kitchen holding a lit candle, a white knit shawl draped around her shoulders. "Master Kirkland, Alfred is still gone."

"But-… You mean he hasn't arrived home yet?" England clenched his teeth together. "You haven't seen him?"

"No, sir." Mary frowned. "Did you find him?"

"He's in the woods then, I'm going out to look for him." England turned away and headed back to the door. "Keep a candle in the window, in case he comes back while I'm gone."

Mary nodded and rushed back to the kitchen. England stormed through the front door, slamming it shut behind him and rushed to the stables, where he prepared a lantern. Once lighting the candle and closing the tin latch, he fled the stables and walked a fast but steady pace into the woods.

"America- America!" England called loudly, and walked in the general direction towards the town. "America!"

_That boy is going to be the death of me one day if he keeps doing things like this…_

England continued to walk through the woods, calling to the tiny nation before continuing his steady pace. The wind picked up, caressing the trees, causing them to whisper to each other softly. Birds and insects called to one another in the dark night, with only the moon to give its soft light.

"America, America-!" England cut himself off at the sound of soft cries. Eyes narrowing, England turned in a circle, trying to pinpoint the location of the crying. "America…?"

England surged forward, holding the lantern out before him. The crying grew in volume, but remained muted. After parting a series of thick bushes, England came to a small clearing and found the boy curled in a tight ball, his face buried in his arms. Stepping forward, the elder nation knelt before the boy and set the lantern down.

The boy looked up suddenly, his face cherry red and wet with tears. His mouth opened, closed, opened, and then closed again. He settled for chewing his bottom lip and a fresh batch of tears sprouted at the corners of his sky-blue eyes. "En-... guh..." He hiccupped and gasped, a choked sob escaping.

England peered at his tiny colony, his previous worry and anger melting away. "… America-"

"I-I-…" America gasped and sputtered, unable to do anything but sob. "…sorry-I-"

England heaved a sigh and grasped the boy, hauling him up into a one-armed hold. Grunting softly, England reached for the lantern, and stood.

"You're almost too big for this…" England grunted. "Come on, we're going home."

 

+++++

 

America squeezed his eyes shut as England scrubbed soap into his hair for the third time, trying to get the blood and grim from his hair. He sat in a white porcelain tub, shivering slightly at the cool air filtering in from under the door. Since England took America home, and after finding only a few cuts and scratches on his face, hands, and arms, the two remained silent, neither uttering a single word to one another.

"Well then…" England took his soapy hands away and America dunked his head into the water, the soap washing away from his wheat-colored locks. "Get dried off and go to bed."

"B-but-" America sputtered, shock registering on his face. "You're… not mad?"

England frowned. "You mean about the desk?"

America's surprised stare quickly fell into shame, where his gaze then dropped to the tub.

"I am…  _disappointed_  about the desk." England admitted. "I thought that by now you learned how to control your strength when angry or excited."

America's face fell further at the mention of disappointment. "…I just… when you left…" America turned his face upward to England once more. "Are you ashamed of me?"

"I-…what?" England stared at the little colony. "Ashamed?"

"I can't read or write very well, my handwriting is horrible, I destroyed your desk, I tried running away to become a ships boy-"

"Wait, wait. You went to the docks? To become a _ship's boy_?" England sputtered. "What in the… do you know what could have happened? Do you know how dangerous that was? _America_ -"

"I know! I know…" America frowned. "I… I don't want to become one anymore… I mean… I want to see the world and everything but…" America sighed. "I thought that… if I went and traveled the world like you do, then you would be proud of me… and… you wouldn't be mad about the desk and that…. you would stay here. With me…"

"You…thought I wasn't proud of you?" England couldn't help but smile. "You silly boy…" England chuckled, shaking his head in dismay and stood, pulling a towel from the cupboard and holding it out for America. "You did all this just so you could… make me proud of you?"

America flushed in embarrassment, and climbed out of the tub, shivering at the cool air before running into the towel, wrapping it around him.

"Now go to your room and get ready for bed… honestly…" England chuckled once more. "You're far too old for me to be babying you like this."

England turned away and headed for the door, opening it, but paused a moment before turning to face America once more. "Your writing is very good… for just starting." England smiled, and it came out crooked. "Say… tomorrow. I'll sit with you and you can practice your writing with me?"

America stared at him for a moment before smiling broadly. "Really? You promise?"  _…_ _Anything_ _but that old crabby guy…_

"You have my word."

America nodded suddenly, excitement bubbling in his gut and his eyes lighting up.

"Then… after breakfast tomorrow." England raised a brow at America's sudden excitement. "America… I never left because I wasn't proud of you. I left because my people needed me. Just as your people need you, sometimes."

America nodded. "I know that…now."

"Right well…" England took a step back, grasping the door. "Good night."

America watched him leave the washroom, breathed a sigh of relief, and left for his room with a smile on his face.

 

+++++

 

_**Epilogue** _

_**  
**_

_Around Three Hundred Years Later…_

"Ah, England! You made it!"

America grinned broadly at him and rushed up to greet him. An expensive pin-stripe suit covered his tall, muscular frame. "I didn't think you'd come."

"Yes well…" England stared at him, silently admiring how nice America looked in a suit, and glanced about. "You have movie premiers all the time and…well... you've never  _this excited_ about them before."

A red carpet stretched under them, and on either side were crowds of people, all talking loudly and snapping photos. Beyond the crowds was the familiar backdrop of Disneyland.

"But this is different." America insisted, tugging at his tie and straightening his suit jacket. "I actually helped the writers with the characters!"

"… _really_." England deadpanned. "Suddenly, my faith in this movie being even  _mildly entertaining_  has left me."

"Oh  _come on_  England," America frowned, looking hurt. "Just give it a chance; I'm sure you'll like it."

"A movie based on a ride in Disneyland…?" England sounded skeptical. "Have you forgotten I was actually in the Caribbean when the pirates were mucking about? Honestly, if you get even one thing historically accurate I'll be surprised."

"Oh I'd never forget your stories from the Caribbean..." America pressed a hand to England's back and steered him down the red carpet. "Now let's get going before someone decides to interview us. I'd hate to have my boss yell at me again for showing up on TV…"

"This has happened before?" England sighed and shook his head. "Fine, might as well get it over with."

The two made their way to their seats, where America quickly pulled out popcorn and sodas. England had his phone out, answering a few text messages before snapping the phone shut and pocketing it.

"Want some?" America offered him popcorn.

England peered at the bag. "It's not swimming in butter, is it?"

"Of course not." America smirked. "I figured you might want some, so I didn't have any put on."

England glanced at America momentarily, warmth pooling in his chest at America's thoughtfulness, and took a few kernels in his hand.

_Might as well relax and enjoy myself… Haven't seen a movie like this in a while…_

Movie stars and other important people slowly filed in, all making their way to their seats. Finally, the lights dimmed and the movie started.

The movie started out dark and foreboding well enough, introducing many of the characters that would soon come into play. England couldn't help but turn a dry glare at America, his suspicions rising at this being another movie America tricked him into watching where the British Empire was the enemy. America caught his glare and smiled innocently, his eyes twinkling.

England, gradually, turned his gaze back to the movie, where the pirate with lanky hair and black eye shadow was held at gun point, the main character's all around.

_"_ **_Father_ ** _… Commodore…"The girl swept a look around at the other men. "Do you really intend to kill my rescuer?"_

_The Commodore sheathed his sword in reluctance. "…I believe thanks are in order?" He held out his hand._

_The pirate stared at it for a moment before holding his hand out as well. The military man gripped his hand and swiftly yanked the shirtsleeve away, revealing P burned into his skin. "Had a brush with the East India Trading Company…_ **_Pirate_ ** _?"_

_The girl's father bristled. "_ _Hang_ _him."_

_"Keep the guns on him men. Gillette, fetch some irons!"_

_The commodore pulled the shirt sleeve up further, revealing the tattoo of a bird flying across a sunrise._

_"Well, well… Jack_ **_Sparrow_ ** _, isn't it?"_

_"…_ **_Captain_ ** _Jack Sparrow-"_

England gasped, nearly sucking a half-chewed popped corn kernel down his throat. Bending over, he coughed into his hands, ignoring the dirty looks being thrown in his direction. America patted his back and leaned down.

"Are you okay?" Concern flooded America's voice. "What's wrong? Did it go down the wrong way?"

England, finishing his coughing, took deep breaths and tugged at the tie around his throat. "Ah- yes, yes…" England picked himself back up and leaned back into his seat, his cheeks flushed red from the coughing and...  _something else_.

America peered at him a moment before turning back to the screen. England stared at America out of the corner of his eye, feeling something well into a tight ball within his chest.  
 _  
_ _He did this on_ _purpose_ _… didn't he? God if only he knew who the real Captain Sparrow was…_

England swallowed the lump back down his throat and refrained from eating any more popcorn.

Two and a half hours later, England stepped into the hotel room he shared with America and sat on the edge of the bed. America followed, closing the door behind him.

"…Well?"

"Well what?"

"The movie. Did you like it?"

England stared at America. "…It was… good."

America deflated. "That's it? Just  _good_?"

"It was better than most of your movies…" England's stare turned flat. " _Despite_  your  _portrayal_  of the British-"

"So you  _did_  like it then?"

England glared at him and yanked his tie away from his neck. "Don't let it get to your head now."

America grinned a thousand watt smile and collapsed into the bed. "Wanna know where I got the inspiration for Captain Jack Sparrow?"

England turned away, unable to meet his eyes and stood from the bed. "And why would I want to know that?" England started unbuttoning his shirt. "Probably from some silly day dream-"

"Of course, _you_  already know where it came from,  _don't you_?"

England paused, nervousness bubbling in his chest as he slowly turned around. America stared at him, his blue eyes piercing straight through him.

"…You…" England felt something shift in the air. "No, I…"

"When you left again, I found your pirate clothes in your old sea chest."

England stared at him, his gaping mouth slowly turning into a tight lipped frown.

"You broke into my room and… you've known all this time."

England stepped over and fell into the bed.

"I always wondered how the lock on that chest got broken."

America scooted over and sat up, facing England.

"…Do you still have that old gear?"

England narrowed his eyes at him.

"…Why?"

America smiled innocently, and England couldn't help but feel deep shudder run through his body.

"Oh… just wondering!"

 

++++++++++

A/n: … And then America dreamt of England having his wicked, pirate-y way with him. Yeah. Anyways, I thought this would never end! (It ended up being 26 pages in total) Hope my attempt at an accent wasn't too horrible. I couldn't help but add in a little crack/humor at the end there. Hope you all enjoyed it? Comments/Reviews are love :)

  


Historical Stuff:

  


1\. Blunderbuss Pistol - According to Wikipedia: (Cause using them for research is totally valid. /sarcasm) " is a muzzle-loading firearm with a short, large caliber barrel, which is flared at the muzzle, and used with shot. The blunderbuss is an early form of shotgun adapted to military and defensive use." Basically, if you were shot with the rifle version at short range, your done for D: They probably didn't have blunderbuss pistols in the 1600s, but that's just my guess. I couldn't find anything that directly stated dates or years when they were in use.

  


2\. Keelhauled – According to Wikipedia: "a form of corporal punishment meted out to sailors at sea. The sailor was tied to a rope that looped beneath the vessel, thrown overboard on one side of the ship, and dragged under the ship's keel to the other side. As the hull was often covered in barnacles and other marine growth, this could result in cuts and other injuries. This generally happened if the offender was pulled quickly. If pulled slowly, his weight might lower him sufficiently to miss the barnacles but might result in his drowning."


End file.
